Location: Mornington Crescent. Office. I've just been shown a number of
stunningly shot JPGs of various cities across the globe, and asked to name
them. The answers were things like Rio De Janiero, Shanghai, Kuala Lumpur
and Cape Town. I correctly identified none of them. My guesses were wildly
off the mark, usually on the wrong continent. Someone else here whose life
seems to revolve around rugby, and getting hammered while watching rugby,
managed to get nearly all of them. This makes me feel inadequate, despite
the fact that I'm actually pretty adequate for many everyday tasks.

I want to come across as well-travelled, good natured and generally
impressive, you know, like Michael Palin. But I don't want to go on a round
the world trip. What I need, to plug this gap in my knowledge, is some kind
of book called “Cityscapes Of The World”, with a couple of anecdotes or
observations relating to each city, so I can pretend I've been to, say, Lima
by dropping discreet mentions of the amazing black-browed albatrosses on the
coast. I can work on the weather-beaten look on a sun lounger at Tooting
Leisure Centre. London offers me various world cuisines; I can eat
khachapuri on Holloway Road without having to go to Tblisi and risk getting
caught up in revolutionary demonstrations.

But if I had a series of JPGs of various features of Dunstable town centre,
I'd show them who was boss. “Yep,” I'd say, leaning back in my chair and
twiddling my thumbs, “That'll be the Beecroft estate. Beautiful, isn't it.
In late summer, you can buy the most exquisite cans of Tango very near
there. You must go.”